


Love

by flaming_muse



Category: Glee
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaming_muse/pseuds/flaming_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What love looks like. Futurefic.</p>
<p>no spoilers mentioned or implied past 4x02 (“Britney 2.0”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love

Kurt walks out of his final exam of the semester and finds that the weak grey light of the December afternoon he left behind three hours ago has faded into the crisp bleakness of pre-dinner darkness, and he huffs out an exhausted breath and wishes for the sun, for summer, for anything warm and bright.

And then he hears a throat being cleared, and he turns to his left and takes in Blaine standing there on the sidewalk with a double handful of friends behind him - some former Warblers, some new friends, and oddly enough Mike, who isn’t supposed to be in New York at all. Blaine’s nose is pink from the cold, his hair and coat are dusted with the snow falling lightly around them, his eyes are twinkling, and his grin is as wide as his face can hold.

Kurt slips his hands into his pockets and stands there serenely, even though a candlelit dinner just the two of them would have been as much of a celebration of four weeks off from school as this would be, as Blaine begins to sing - a silly pop song about vacations and love that had been wildly popular that summer - and Kurt smiles to himself as the backing singers begin to dance, Blaine struts toward him, and a few of the curious bystanders gathering around begin to sing along, too.

He lets Blaine take his hand and sing into his eyes about sunshine and sharing beach umbrellas as snow settles in his own hair in the glow of street lamp-light. It is ridiculous and charming and very, very sweetly Blaine.

_This_ , Kurt thinks with so much fondness in his heart at the affection in Blaine’s expression, all for him, _is what it means to be loved by you_.

*

Blaine finds a free table in the corner of the busy campus lounge and opens his school bag, pulling out his reading for his class so that he can finish it over a cup of coffee. Tucked carefully into the corner of his bag is his lunch for later, but instead of the usual plastic snap-top containers Kurt usually packs his food in, today Blaine finds a cylindrical stack of metal chambers clamped together inside of an insulated sleeve: the tiffin set Kurt had asked for for Christmas.

He knows he should wait until later, but he’s too curious, so he slips off the sleeve and unpacks it carefully. He finds inside a container of aromatic rice, another full of Kurt’s famous lamb curry, a folded round of naan, all still nice and warm, and in the container on top a generous scoop of Blaine’s very favorite homemade aloo chaat, which Kurt had assured him last night was all gone after his second helping. He must have saved some just to send with his lunch today.

Blaine looks down at this amazing meal, which Kurt had somehow organized and packed before his first cup of coffee when Blaine - similarly impaired - was stumbling around the apartment trying to remember where he had put his shoes, and then out at the room around him at his peers chatting with their friends over their tasteless muffins from the coffee counter. They’ll be there again later, chewing on anemic pizza and endless heaps of soggy french fries as they discuss dead writers and living heartthrobs.

But not him, because even though he kind of loves those fries, he is lucky enough to have homemade curry and aloo chaat to eat while arguing about Plato and Justin Bieber.

_This is how you love me_ , Blaine thinks happily as he puts it all away again and opens up his reading.

*

Coming home very late from the library, Blaine takes off his shoes in the hallway outside of their apartment, even though the carpeting is squishy with the rain their neighbors have been tracking in, and he throws the deadbolt and hooks on the chain as quietly as possible when he’s inside. He sets his bag down, barely breathing, and doesn’t dare turn on a light in the hallway as he tiptoes toward the bathroom.

He washes his face and brushes his teeth as quickly as he can, and he carefully skirts the creaky floorboard by his side of the bed as he presses himself low so that he doesn’t pull on the covers too much when he slips into the bed.

Kurt is a light sleeper, and once he’s awake, he’s awake for a while. Blaine waits, worried, to see if he’s disturbed him.

But tonight Kurt only sighs in his sleep and curls onto his side toward him, and Blaine relaxes against his own pillow, sneaks his foot over to touch Kurt’s ankle, closes his eyes, and thinks with pride in accomplishing what he set out to do for him, _I love you_.

*

On his way out of the bathroom on a Monday morning, Kurt scoops up Blaine’s shirt and moves it three feet over into the hamper.

He toes a pair of Blaine’s shoes into the closet when he is finished getting dressed and closes the door behind him.

He thumps the assortment of books Blaine has left on the table beside the couch into a tidy stack and moves Blaine’s coffee mug to the sink before he makes his own breakfast.

When he gets ready to leave for the day, he grabs his keys from the dish by the door that is cluttered with ticket stubs, paper clips, stamps, odd wrapped hard candies, a fading silk rosebud, a few fortune cookie fortunes, a menu for that new Persian restaurant Blaine wants to try, a roll of quarters, and a screwdriver.

Kurt likes his home to be neat, organized, and color-coordinated. He loves clean lines, clean surfaces, and clean floors.

_But_ , he reminds himself firmly when the whole dish threatens to tip over, and he has to catch it with one hand and comes dangerously close to spilling his coffee on his new coat as Blaine rushes over to save him, _I also love you_.

*

Kurt and Blaine walk hand-in-hand along their favorite path in the park, Kurt holding a magazine and Blaine holding a loaf of day-old bread to feed to the ducks. (Kurt is not as fond of the ducks, so the magazine is both to occupy himself while Blaine talks to them and to roll up as a weapon if they need to fend off that cranky swan again.)

Kurt stops them on top of the quaint little arched bridge, the same way he always has since the first time they found the spot, and Blaine leans in and kisses him, soft and happy, his half of the tradition.

“I love you,” Kurt tells him when they part, his heart full of blooming flowers, beautiful twists of wrought iron, and Blaine.

Blaine’s smile flashes as bright as the springtime sun around them, and he tugs on Kurt’s hand and takes a step backwards to pull them toward his favorite bench by the pond. “I love you, too.”

*

Love is many things. It’s grand passions and epic moments, perfect kisses and sweeping gestures.

But love is also Blaine sitting across from Kurt at their kitchen table as Kurt frets with tears in his eyes about whether he’s good enough for this business, if this is who he is meant to be, whether he’s right for it, and Blaine holds his hand, holds him together, and thinks, _I know who you are, and you are_.

Love is Kurt biting his tongue and letting Blaine pace and figure things out for himself when it comes to his career or his family, because Kurt might be pretty sure about what Blaine needs, but Blaine needs to know it, too.

Love is fighting over budgets and smiling over bagels. It’s Kurt caring too much about their food being organic and Blaine caring too little about whether the cap is on the toothpaste. It’s Kurt taking a short shower so that the water won’t run cold for Blaine’s. It’s Blaine stopping himself just outside of their apartment door and going back inside, because no matter how late he is running that kiss just wasn’t good enough, and he never wants to do anything with Kurt halfway.

Love is hard. Love is easy. Even with the right person it’s sometimes both at the same time.

But curled up under the covers at the end of the day, and at the first flutter of eyes opening in the morning, together or apart, serenades and special lunches, love is always about _them_ , gifts from one heart to the other.

**Author's Note:**

> Yadda yadda I'm unspoiled for the show ahead yadda yadda.


End file.
